The Cloud by Sara Teasdale
AM a cloud in the heaven’s height,
The stars are lit for my delight,
Tireless and changeful, swift and free,
I cast my shadow on hill and sea–
But why do the pines on the mountain’s crest
Call to me always, “Rest, rest?”
 I throw my mantle over the moon
And I blind the sun on his throne at noon,
Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind,
I am a child of the heartless wind–
But oh the pines on the mountain’s crest
Whispering always, “Rest, rest.”

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